


How Are You Feeling?

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fools, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Jonsa Spring Challenge, Modern AU, Sex With No Feelings, WHO ARE THEY KIDDING?!, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-16 16:32:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14168976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: Quite suddenly -as Sansa foggily remembers it- talk turned to the advantages of a good orgasm. The next thing she knows Jon’s grunting deliciously filthy words into her ear as he fucks her into the couch after eating her out for what seemed like a glorious tongue-flicking, clit-sucking eternity. And God, she’d felt better after that. He had left her a puddle of a woman, panting and boneless, and by-and-large, puddles don’t tend to suffer failures - so Sansa had forgotten her own for a little while.OR - the one where Sansa convinces herself that she only keeps going back for more with Jon for 'stress relieving reasons'.





	1. Fools

**Author's Note:**

> First entry for the Jonsa Spring Challenge - FOOLS

It is - _as most things are_ \- all Robb’s fault.

Sansa stifles a sigh as she rubs her thighs together under the dining table.

Jon devours another mouthful of chow mein with an indecent slurp next to her, the sound sending a jolt straight to her intimate areas. She pushes a bean-sprout around with her chopsticks and tries to ignore the ache between her legs. _Will he ask me tonight?_ She wonders. _It’s been two whole days!_

Jon pushes his glasses up his nose with his knuckle as he chews, clearing his throat as if he means to say something but the words are lodged somewhere within. Meanwhile, the ‘waiting-and-seeing’ is silently killing Sansa inside. _Urgh! This is totally Robb’s fault!_

Everything had been fine before he’d taken off on his two-year internship down in Dorne. Her, Robb and Jon had flat-shared quite successfully. Their separate lives seeming to knit well together under one co-habitable roof. But then, barely a month into Robb’s absence, Sansa found herself thrusting a glass of disgustingly cheap wine into Jon’s hand, demanding he join her in her throes of self-pity at the state of both her career, and her love-life. Being the sweet man that he is, Jon of course, did not object – no matter the hideous tang to the wine, or the way Sansa repeatedly rattled off her long list of failures. Over the span of the evening however, the wine somehow became more palatable the more they drunk, and Sansa’s whinging turned to giggles at Jon’s awful jokes.

Quite suddenly - _as Sansa foggily remembers it_ \- talk turned to the advantages of a good orgasm. The next thing she knows Jon’s grunting deliciously filthy words into her ear as he fucks her into the couch after eating her out for what seemed like a glorious tongue-flicking, clit-sucking eternity. And _God_ , she’d felt better after that. He had left her a puddle of a woman, panting and boneless, and by-and-large, puddles don’t tend to suffer failures - so Sansa had forgotten her own for a little while.

The following morning they’d sheepishly ate their breakfast together, dodging each other’s glances and bumbling apologies when they’d both reached for the last slice of toast in the rack. The air was so thick between them, it was like some sort of awkward soup or broth of embarrassment – until Jon cleared his throat…

“Um…Sansa…about last night-“ he fidgeted, pushing his glasses up his nose, “that was-“

“A mistake!” Sansa blurted, swallowing her mouthful of breakfast, “I’m so sorry Jon! It was my fault. I shouldn’t have bought back that _God-awful_ wine and forced you to help me drown my miseries.”

Jon blinked back at her and Sansa had to admit, her brother’s nerdy best friend can be pretty adorable sometimes (he’s also the _only_ man to have given her a collection of bone-shaking, toe-curling orgasms, but that’s neither here nor there). Jon is Jon, and he’ll never see Sansa as more than Robb’s prissy younger sister that he _has to_ put up with as a roommate – although, Jon has more money than all the Starks put together, so why he’s still prepared to flat-share is beyond Sansa.

Jon hadn’t always been well-off. His mother had raised him without a wisp of help from his father who had covered up his sordid little affair and the consequent baby with the grey eyes and dark curls. Jon hadn’t known a thing about his Dad, Rhaegar until he was around 12 years old.

Rhaegar’s wife, Elia had stumbled upon a letter from Jon’s mother amongst her husband’s belongings, telling him about his son’s birth. It’s honestly a miracle that Rhaegar’s wife didn’t become his _ex-wife_ but part of Elia’s conditions to stay were her insistence that her husband should know his illegitimate son and her children should have a relationship with their half-sibling. Jon fancies that it was all Elia’s doing that Rhaegar later came to offer him a job at Targaryen Media – a multi-dragon global publishing company that houses many popular and niche magazines. Jon himself now chief editor of Dragon Games, a retro gaming publication.

Jon’s lips twitched in contemplation before his eyes fell back down to where he was nudging his cheerios around with his spoon. He nodded to himself, but Sansa’s eyes were snagged on the frown of his mouth. _Could he…Could he have wanted more from this odd-but-amazing thing that was now between them? No…this is JON we’re talking about._

“I did…um…” Sansa stuttered. Jon looked up at her expectantly with those soulful eyes – the very same eyes that she remembers watching her when his mouth clamped over her clit. She gulps and curses herself for even starting to talk. “I felt better afterwards,” Sansa cringes at her own words, like she’d compared the magic he’d done with his tongue with some paracetamol and an early night. “I mean…it-it took my mind off of things-“ she trailed off, about to huff at her own stupidity because now she’s basically just labelled him a distraction.

“Well, they say that…um…doing…” Jon fidgeted, staring down into his bowl of cereal again, “uh.. _that_ …is …um…a good way to alleviate stress,” he explained on a mumble with his cheeks rapidly turning a shade of pink.

“Yeah,” Sansa agreed quickly, nodding along with his sentiments and trying to help ease the embarrassment surrounding the topic of conversation. “Yeah, I’ve heard that somewhere too.”

For the remainder of breakfast, Jon’s brows were permanently furrowed in thought. Every now and again he’d purse his lips, looking as if he were about to say something, only for his nerve to leave him stranded at the breakfast table with the girl who’d almost yanked his hair out in a near-orgasmic frenzy the previous night. She kind of wants to give his locks a firm tug right now, while asking him to please just _spit it out_ – this thing that he clearly wants to say but can’t.

Sansa finished eating silently and cleared away her breakfast things before brushing her teeth and heading out the door. She wasn’t meant to be working at the café that day but her boss had text her early asking for her to come in and cover one of the other waitresses shifts. She sighed as she tied her apron around her waist and picked up her little order pad and pencil. With a degree in Fashion Design, this really wasn’t where she wanted to be.

She’d hoped that Jon would still be at work when she stepped through the apartment door – but Sansa is never so lucky. He’d decided to have a day working from home with his laptop and files open all over the dining table. She supposes it’s all her fault anyway, what with persuading him to drink with her last night – and then putting his mouth to work.

“Hey,” he greeted her softly, pushing his glasses up to his head as he straightened in his seat.

Not allowing herself to ponder too long on how the velvet texture of his voice could suddenly invoke memories of last night, Sansa shot back a hurried _“hi”_ in return and decided to scurry off to her bedroom.

Not long after, Jon appeared at her doorframe. “How was your day?”

“Awful,” Sansa answered truthfully – she’d been on the receiving end of some really rude customers when all she’d really wanted to do was be at home, glued to her sewing machine, working on new designs.

“Sorry to hear it,” Jon offered as he nervously rubbed at the back of his neck.

Sansa shrugged out of her cardigan and went to the wardrobe to hang it back up. “Not much I can do about it,” she sighed.

Jon nodded. “So um…” he shifted on his feet before shaking his head and letting out a huff as he rapidly turned a beetroot red under Sansa’s expectant gaze. “Uh… _nevermind_ ,” he mumbled, backing away and attempting to leg it down the hall. Sansa let him go.

Later, when she’d checked her emails and found two more design internship rejections waiting for her in her inbox, Sansa stomped her way into the kitchen to fix them something to eat. “How you feeling?” Jon asked with raised brows at his position by the kettle waiting for it to boil.

“Stressed!” she snapped, yanking the chicken, carrots and broccoli out of the fridge and dumping them on the side ready for her to prepare.

Jon nodded his head. “Do you want help with that?”

Sansa sucked in a breath and wheeled ‘round to face him with wide eyes. _Did he just…?_ “What _kind_ of help?” she asked, gaze dropping to his lips as she rolled her tongue out to wet her own, Jon’s words about ways of relieving stress echoing in her head.

“With the cooking” he gestured to the carrots now abandoned on the kitchen counter behind her.

“Oh,” Sansa commented, turning back to stare dumbly at the vegetables, “yeah…um…I thought you meant-… _nevermind,_ ” she flustered, shaking her head at herself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Realisation seemed to hit Jon suddenly like a snowball to the face. “Oh! Uh… I didn’t-…I wouldn’t presume to-…that is, I would totally be alright with that but, but-…I thought-“

“You would?” Sansa interrupted his babbling.

“Yeah,” he blurted eagerly before screwing his eyes shut and huffing out of his nose. He managed to pin Sansa to the spot when his eyelids slowly rose to stare at her more steadily. “I’ll help you with whatever you want, Sansa,” he said earnestly, “be that cooking or… _something else.”_

Sansa nodded to herself, desire pooling low in her belly at the memory of how Jon had made her feel last night. Could she do that? Could she effectively use him as some form of stress relief? The thought made her wince. She didn’t want to _use_ anyone. But _God_ , the way Jon was looking at her now made her wetter than The Trident. “Um…” she nibbled at her lip and watched as Jon’s chest rose and fell with each breath as he awaited her answer. “ _Something else_ …please,” she answered hoarsely.

And that had been the start of it two weeks ago – with Jon giving Sansa _‘something else’_ almost every day.

Jon finished his last mouthful of chow mein and wiped his lips and beard with a napkin. _Maybe he’ll ask me now?_ Sansa thought – _hoped_ – as she pressed her thighs together. “Are you finished?” he asked, indicating to her plate. Sansa could only mumble and nod, she had an appetite for something else tonight. “Do you want dessert?” Jon called out from the kitchen where he was stacking their dinner plates into the dishwasher.

“Not really,” she answered. _I want you. I want you to make me feel good again._

Jon came back to the dining table empty handed and sat back down in his seat. _Please ask! Please ask!_ She chanted in her head, feeling her cheeks flush.

“How are you feeling?”

_Yes! Yes! Yes!_

“Um…” Sansa smiled, trying to play coy, “a little stressed.”

Jon grinned back at her. “Well we can’t have that, now can we?” He pushed his seat back and pat the table-top in front of him – an expectant invitation. Sansa only _just_ manages to contain her excitement. She likes it best when they do this. When Jon has her legs spread in front of him atop the dining table, devouring her greedily like she’s a five-course gourmet meal. She half expects him to tuck a napkin into the collar of his shirt as a bib.

Sansa sat on the edge of the table right in front of where Jon was sitting, licking his lips, eyes glued to her skirt as he watched her shuffle her bum back a little. She laid down, her back pressing against the cool wood as she felt Jon’s hands ghost up her calves, twisting around to her shins and then guiding her legs to part and grasping behind her knees, pushing her back and spreading her open so obscenely that Sansa’s first instinct is to object – but she won’t. She’d never refuse Jon. Not with how carefully, diligently and repeatedly he wrings her out. He scrapes the chair legs against the hardwood floor to scoot closer and Sansa lets out a contented sigh as his lips and beard gently brushed her inner thigh, slowly working towards her centre.

She wiggled a bit, eager to feel his mouth where she wants it most, causing Jon to nip at her soft skin. “Patience,” he whispers, moving to start all over again on her other thigh when he had been _so close._ She near jumps out of her skin when his mouth abruptly leaves her for two of his fingers to hook into the side of her panties and tug on the fabric. “These are nice,” he comments, his knuckles brushing against her sensitive lips as he rubbed the material between his thumb and fingers.

“I made them,” she hums, head lolling to the side as she tingled with anticipation.

“That’s pretty impressive,” Jon comments, reaching for the ribbon ties at her hips to rid himself of the barrier. “Although I think you may have ruined them. They’re soaked.”

“I’ll - _Oh!-_ make more,” Sansa sighed at the first swipe of his tongue. She glanced down at Jon just as he was about to push his glasses up to his head, indicating he meant business. “Leave them on,” she asked.

“Why?” he kissed her clit tenderly with a slight grin.

Sansa let her head fall back down to the surface of the table, knowing she wouldn’t be able to contain her blush as she confessed her next words. “Because they make you look like a hot history professor,” she sighed, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip at the feel of his chuckling hot breath fanning over her most intimate areas.

“You want me to recite everything I know about the War of the Five Kings?” he murmured into her before licking and suckling, making Sansa squirm under his attentions.

 _“Men,”_ Sansa huffed, “why are you all so _-ah!-_ …con-consumed with fighting and _-oh shit!-…_ war?”

Jon chuckled against her again. “I wouldn’t know sweetheart. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

That did it. Sansa let out a peel of giggles, her head rolling against the table as her stomach jumped and twitched with amusement. “Smooth, Snow, smoo- _OH FUCK!”_ she yelped as Jon clamped his mouth over her clit and began sucking and flicking his tongue. _“Oh Gods!”_ Sansa groaned, feeling two of Jon’s fingers slide inside her. He pumped in time with his thrashing tongue for a while until almost withdrawing his digits completely to start pressing a firm circular massage on her upper wall with the pads of his fingers, the action sending a liquid warmth all through Sansa’s body, making her want to keen and curl up into a ball of intense pleasure.

Jon did -as he always does- a pretty impressive job of making her melt into the table top, building the gorgeous tension until it was too much and she shattered, crying out under his attentions, flying amongst the stars.

After that – after he’d rendered her boneless and panting, Sansa has come to learn that Jon likes to lap lazily at her, his tongue taking languorous licks, humming in satisfaction as she attempts to catch her breath. She often wonders what it is that goes through his mind at times like these – or any times really. He’ll press gentle little pecks to her sensitive clit every now and again and Sansa has managed to figure out that he’s testing her readiness for him to start all over again. If she twitches or flinches, he will return to his leisurely lapping up through her until he’ll try another kiss, watching for her reaction.

Sansa’s not sure how long Jon wold be willing to carry on like that, but usually around the third time he’s made her come apart, she’s forced to push him away and whisper for him to fuck her instead.

Needless to say, by the time they part to return to their own rooms for the night, Sansa is very ready for her slumber. But that doesn’t shield her from the constant pondering that plagues her. Should they carry on with this? Is she in danger of wanting _more_ from Jon – more than he’s willing to give? Down that path lies danger. _Don’t overthink this,_ she reminds herself. _It’s just sex – that’s all Jon Snow is willing to give. Don’t start wishing for more._


	2. All I've Ever Wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of Jonsa Spring Challenge

“You really think they’d pick me?”

“I don’t see why not,” Jon shrugged, chopping the tomatoes for their Bolognese sauce, “you’re really talented with your designs and stuff. They’d be mad not to write about you.”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted -” Sansa admitted as she took out the spaghetti from the cupboard, “- a chance. For someone to take me seriously for my designs – to maybe one day have my own line. I could quit that stupid job at the café and really concentrate on-“ she paused mid thought, wheeling round to point a bundle of dried pasta at Jon, “hey – they’re not giving me this interview purely because _I know you_ , are they?”

Jon put down the chopping knife and held his hands up in surrender. “Ok, full disclosure-“ Sansa’s heart sank and she supposes it must have shown on her face because Jon starts shaking his head and back-tracking, “it’s not bad! It’s not bad – honest!”

“I don’t want to get by on my… connections to Targaryen Media, Jon. I want to be able to get by on my own merit.”

“And you will! You will!” he took a step closer but paused. “Look,” he started, “I saw the opportunity on the company email and I sent a link to your design blog direct to KL Fashions’ editor, nothing else.”

“So…you didn’t tell them that we’re…friends?”

 _If that’s what you call it_ , Sansa thought darkly.

Jon shook his head. “No. Sansa, if they’re considering you for this opportunity, then it’s entirely because they were impressed by what they saw. I had nothing to do with it.”

Sansa nodded and went back to the stove, adding the spaghetti to the pan. The opportunity at KL Fashions would be a PR God-send for someone like Sansa – the magazine (whose parent company is Targaryen Media) was reaching out for young fashion designers who are at the very beginnings of their careers; they want to run a recurring feature on a select few hopefuls, following them throughout their concept and design process and how tough it is for them to break into the business and make names for themselves (Sansa thinks that the magazine feature itself would cancel out the logic behind _that_ part of the article but supposes KL Fashions will then tout any of the designers’ future successes as their own, claiming them their fashion protégées.) It didn’t matter though, Sansa wanted _in_ and Jon has managed to secure an interview for her.

**Interview day…**

Sansa groaned as she stepped under the heat of the water spray. Today was a big day and she already felt both weary and jacked up on nerves. She’s suffered more than a handful of apprenticeship application failures to date and really didn’t want to add this magazine opportunity to that pile. Reaching for her citrusy-sweet smelling shower gel, Sansa’s hand paused in mid-air when she heard the bathroom door open and close, a shadow forming on the other side of the shower curtain.

“Jon?” she called out over the sound of running water.

“Listen…um…feel free to tell me to just _fuck off_ , but…” Jon huffed, “…uh… _how are you feeling?”_

Realisation came over Sansa like the steam that was beginning to swirl around in the shower. Her cheeks flushed, and it had nothing to do with the warmth from the water. “Um…a little stressed, actually.”

Jon didn’t comment. Sansa began to chew on her bottom lip in anticipation as she watched the shadow move, looking like he was ridding himself of the boxers and t-shirt that he sleeps in. He paused. “Um…Sansa?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you…you know…genuinely stressed…or do you want me to…”

Sansa bit down hard on her lip in an attempt to stop the grin from spreading all over her face. She failed miserably. “Don’t make this awkward, Jon,” she called out, “are you getting in?”

The curtain rings scraped against the rail at one end of the tub as Jon pushed it aside to step in. His eyes swept her naked body up and down making him lick at his lips like he were a predator and she his prey. Sansa hadn’t noticed that however, she was far to preoccupied with looking her fill of Jon’s body in return – drinking in the hard planes of muscle, his sexy riot of curls (seriously, how does one make bed-head look so good?) and the light dusting of hair that starts at his navel and leads down to where his cock is already hard for her.

“Turn around,” Jon asks, making her purse her lips, ready to question him but she thinks better of it and obeys.

Sansa feels him come closer, pushing his front to her back. She likes the press of his chest to her skin and the poke of his hardness against the curve of her ass. Reaching forward and up, Jon unhooks the showerhead above them whilst grasping her hip for balance. He says nothing but begins to direct the spray of warm water down the length of her hair, stroking it and turning it, making sure he’d soaked all of her locks before reaching past her again to turn the water off. Sansa heard the click and squeeze of a bottle and was tempted to turn and question him before she felt his hands in her hair again.

He slowly massaged the shampoo into a white lather, tenderly rubbing his fingertips into her scalp in a way that made her sigh and tingle all over even as her mind was scrambling to try and make sense of what he was doing amidst the scents of fruits and blossoms. It was of no use though; Jon’s gentle touch was turning her mind to mush. She was in danger of melting and being washed down the plug hole along with the suds.

She very nearly asked him; _What are you doing? Why are you always so nice to me?_ But she sighed and let out a contented _“mmmm”_ noise instead.

“Good?” he asked from behind her, reaching forwards to turn the water back on so he could rinse off the shampoo. Sansa found herself unable to answer, so she nodded instead.

After pushing her now clean, wet hair over one of her shoulders and shutting off the water once again, Jon reached both arms in front of her, swiping her shower gel from where it hung on the shower unit, she watched as he squirted some into his open palm before her and shivered as he brushed little kisses on her bare, water dappled shoulder.

Rubbing the soap between his hands, Jon then began to glide them up her torso, his warm palms and fingers slip-sliding against her skin. Stepping back a little, he allowed himself some room to smooth the soap around her shoulder blades, down her back and around her hips again. She enjoyed feel of his chest now slippery against her skin as Sansa’s mind tried to keep up with where Jon’s hands were. A part of her thought that she would be happy with just this, just him holding her close and being sweet and gentle and altogether _too good_. But there was a larger part of her brain that was holding its breath, awaiting the pleasure that she knew he could give her.

She didn’t have to wait too long, Jon’s hands began brushing higher and higher, cupping her ribs before gliding up to her breasts as he kissed at her neck. “You’ll do great today,” he whispered into her damp hair as his slippery squeeze sent a jolt right down between her thighs. Sansa sighed and shifted on her feet at the feeling of anticipation, her ass brushing against his erection. “I mean it Sansa,” he said as he rolled both nipples into stiff peaks between gentle fingertips, “they’ll be mad not to give you the opportunity.”

“You’re only saying that to be nice.”

“No,” Jon retorted, nipping at her ear as one of his hands slid down her body to stroke between her legs. He reached forwards, turning the water back on and then fussed with the controls some, angling the shower-head so that the now gentle stream pattered delicately against Sansa’s chest rather than her face, the warm water raced down her body chasing the soapy suds. Keeping her firm against him, Jon continued to rub slow circles between her legs as his other hand divided its time between her breasts. “I told you… I mean it, Sansa,” he reminded her, beginning to slowly rub his cock between her slippery ass cheeks.

Sansa thought he may urge her to bend, allowing him to grab her hips and take her roughly from behind as the water rained down on her back. They’d both enjoyed that position together a few times before with Jon fucking her over the arm of the sofa, fast and hard and grunting filthy words of encouragement about how good she felt. She was surprised, then, when he made no move to enter her at all as his hands continued to devote his touch to firm but slow caresses, all the while laying soft kisses along her shoulder and neck.

“They’ll love you, Sansa,” he muttered into the damp skin behind her ear, “who wouldn’t?”

She hummed, allowing the affirmation of Jon’s words and the sweet strokes of his hands to wash over her like the warmth of the water running down the length of her body.

“Are you going to wear that blue dress today? The one you made?” he asked between lapping at her skin. Sansa nodded, thinking he must have seen the garment laid out on her bed as he’d passed by her bedroom. Her eyes fluttering closed as the circles his fingers were rubbing between her legs became tighter, firmer.  “You want to know a secret about that dress?” he kissed below her lobe. Sansa nodded once more. “It’s my favourite. The colour makes your eyes look the bluest of blues and your hair like fire.” Sansa moaned, her hips starting to move, rutting against the pressure of Jon’s hand. “They’re going to love you,” he whispered between kisses to her neck, “and love your designs. Don’t you worry about that sweetheart.”

“I want you inside me,” Sansa sighed, lifting one foot to rest on the side of the tub, angling herself to give him more access. She wobbled a bit unsteadily, her hand shooting out to brace herself against the tiles on the wall. Jon’s grip on her tightened as he held her securely, all wrapped up in his strong embrace.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured in her ear, “I won’t let you fall.”

Sansa’s hand tentatively left the wall to reach back behind and bury her fingers into Jon’s curls. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, nuzzling behind her ear before reaching down and aligning himself to enter her, both of them groaning in unison as Jon filled her.

She thought he might fuck her then – pound into her until they were panting and sated like he had done many a time since that first, almost three months ago. But he didn’t. All Jon Snow did was hold her tight, one hand cupping her breast, the other rubbing leisurely at her clit as he moved slowly within her while whispering sweet encouragements in her ear.

Being completely enveloped within Jon’s tight embrace as he moved slow and measured - it felt…well, it felt like he was… _making love to her._ Sansa’s mind quickly ushered away the thought as soon as it materialised. That way heartache lies and Sansa’s not willing to take that risk, not when what they have is this casual arrangement where they make each other _feel good_ for a little while with no strings attached. That’s all this is with Jon Snow, it’s all it _ever was_ and all it _ever will be_. She’s just his roommate, his best friend’s sister – _his own_ friend she hopes – _but nothing more_.

And yet when Jon starts sighing her name into her shoulder with each wet leisurely thrust, Sansa wonders just _how_ dangerous it would be to pretend, just for a little while, that someone like Jon – someone the complete opposite to any of her exes – could love her, _truly_.

She lets her mind wander to breakfasts in bed, strolls in the park and being held tight at night, just like he was doing now, making her feel safe and wanted and-

Suddenly, all thoughts left her and nothing else existed but Jon’s fingers between her legs, Jon’s hand kneading her breast, Jon’s cock filling her and Jon’s teeth nipping just below her hairline as she shuddered and groaned out his name, feeling herself tighten around him making him grunt in return.

“Sansa,” he groaned in a strangled cry, his hips jerking up into her as she felt his whole body tense. _Still_ , he held her tight, _still_ , she felt safe and steady in his embrace as she sagged back against him in her post orgasmic bliss. Jon had her, he’d never let her fall.

_It’s all I’ve ever wanted._

****

It’s been five days since the interview and Sansa still can’t figure out whether it went well or not. Jaime, one of the editors that had interviewed her seemed friendly enough, flashing her a winning smile after each of her answers and encouraging words accompanied by a warm handshake before she’d left. Jon had been right – the design boards she’d taken with her had been received well and her interviewers seemed genuinely interested and impressed. But you never can tell with these things – they may have seen another candidate that completely blew them away and _that’s_ why they’ve not called her to let her know either way.

Part of her wonders if she should have asked Jon to put a good word in for her after all, but she sweeps that thought away as soon as it had come – if she’s going to get anywhere, then she’ll get there on her own merit.

Chewing on her thumb nail, she stares unseeing at the glossy pages of the magazine in front of her. They’d already eaten dinner and cleared away, but she was still sat at the table, flipping through her latest copy of KL Fashion with a notepad, jotting down possible inspiration points for a future line. Jon was behind her in the adjoining lounge area, playing one of his retro games that he’s researching for his magazine – _Crypt Raider_ or something - all Sansa knew was that the lady character had massive angular boobs and made obscene grunting noises every time Jon made her jump. Her outfit was cute though. She wondered what Jon’s reaction would be if she’d whipped up an identical costume for herself, complete with thigh-holsters and a swinging braid? It _is_ his birthday next month after all.

Grinning to herself before her smile faltered, Sansa’s brow creases as she flips another page without much thought. Something was going on with Jon recently and she was a little afraid to get to the root of it. He’s been sweet with her ever since that morning in the shower – when is he ever _not_ sweet with her to be honest? _But, it wasn’t that_ \- since the interview they’d slept together three times and each time he’d sigh and moan her name with a reverence that scared her a little – and not only that, but the last time they’d ended up in her bed and he’d fallen asleep with his arm slung around her waist – he’d stayed the whole night. They never actually _sleep_ together afterwards so listening to Jon’s breaths even out and feeling him sleepily nuzzle into the back of her head was as perplexing to Sansa as it was lovely. _No, not lovely – dangerous._

He’s ruining it – this _thing_ they have. He’s making her question it and examine every caress, every kiss of his lips… _Why?_ Why would he play with her heart like this? If Sansa allowed herself to think that maybe-… _no_ … she must _never_ do that, not with Jon, not with how this all started and what they truly were to each other. They make each other _feel good_ for a while – Sansa _mustn’t_ let her heart leap to conclusions, lest it be trampled back down.

What’s more, she can’t let Jon come to suspect that she’s even contemplated having more than what they have together. If he were privy to some of the thoughts that flash through her mind when he holds her tight or when he kisses her so, Jon Snow would take it all away – she knows he would. Not out of spite, never in a callous way – that’s not Jon – but he would _worry_ that carrying on as they were would only put fuel to a perilous fire and quite simply, he would blame himself for leading her on. Well – Sansa doesn’t want his _worry_ or his _pity_ … she wants his… his… _thing!_

She huffs irritably and closes her magazine with more force than strictly necessary, the slap of the pages causing Jon to glance her way briefly as she turns in her chair to face him. “Jon,” she ventures.

His eyes return to the woman with the enormous cubic breasts on the tv screen as he continues to punch buttons on his controller. “Hmmm?”

She nibbles at her lip before answering. “…how are you feeling?”

Jon shrugs, still consumed with the game. “Alright.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “I mean… how are you _feeling?”_

The cogs in Jon’s head seem to click into place at the exact same time as he’d reached forward to swipe his bottle of beer and had taken a glug. He almost chokes on it.

Sansa raises her brow in amusement as she watches him splutter and wipe away excess beer that he’d managed to dribble down his beard. “You mean?...” Sansa nodded back at him with a sly smile. It’s not normally her that asks _him_ the question, so this must’ve come as a surprise. Jon paused his game and sprang to his feet, wiping his hands clean on his jeans. “Yeah…I mean… I’m a bit…um… _stressed_ I suppose…If you want to… uh…”

His enthusiasm made her smile. Now matter how many times they’d had sex, he always seems so damned eager. It makes her feel wanted, it makes her feel desired, it makes her feel-

Sansa schooled her features as she rose from her seat, coming over to him to capture his maddeningly kissable lips with hers. He tastes of the beer he’d just spilt down himself. She swallowed down his groan and looped her arms around his neck, walking backwards to the table once more and tugging him along with her.

“Sansa,” he breathed into their kiss -and _damn it_ , there he goes again, making her knees feel like jelly by just sighing her name. She has to put a stop to this. “I want to go down on you” he declares – _asks_ really. She nips his bottom lip in retaliation.

No. That’s too intimate for right now – not when she’s trying to keep her head straight. That’s too… _nice_. Too _good_. He makes her feel boneless and wrung out when he spends so much time pleasing her like that. He makes her feel… _loved_.

Sansa can’t have that.

He rests his forehead on hers as his eyes bore into her intently. She shakes her head. “No. I want you to _fuck_ me.” That’s how all of this had started, hadn’t it? It’s what they both ultimately wanted… wasn’t it? Sansa knew – if Jon carried on the way he was going with his sweet caresses, his gentleness, and the worshipful way he makes her come apart, then this would become something altogether very different. No – she had to keep it as it had been. The desired status quo must be restored.

She reached down to stroke along the hard length straining in his jeans and kisses him again, briefly tugging his bottom lip between her teeth. “Make me feel good, Jon,” she purred before unbuttoning and unzipping his fly, pushing his jeans and boxers down to his thighs.

She wrapped her hand around his cock and stroked him up and down. “Sansa,” he gasped, lurching forwards for another kiss.

This won’t do. He’s still making her… _feel._

Sansa breaks away and swiftly rids herself of her top and bra before spinning around. Reaching under her skirt, she shimmies her underwear down the length of her legs and kicks them aside before bunching up her skirt to her hips and bending herself over the dining table.

Jon is on her quickly. Leaning over to feather kisses to her spine as his hands stroke her ass cheeks before one slips between her legs and deftly finds where she’s aching for him.

“Sansa,” he whispers into her shoulder blade and she’s reminded yet again of a path her thoughts must not wander down.

“Please, Jon,” she whimpers and wiggles her bum. He enters her slowly until she’s forced to push back on him, making him grunt as she takes the whole of him in. “Harder,” Sansa demands, and Jon is forced to brace himself with his hands flat on the table either side of her waist, flesh now slapping, the furniture now making a knocking sound with each thrust.

“ _Nghh…Sansa…Gods!...”_ Jon pants behind her and Sansa’s struck with how she can _still_ find those unwanted thoughts trapped within his grunts and moans.

“Fuck me, Jon! Harder!”

 _“Fuck!”_ he groans, bringing one hand up to grasp a hold of her bunched-up skirt, using the garment to tug her back into him with every forward thrust. “Sansa…I’m not going to last-“

“ _Mmmm Jon!..._ Cum for m-“

_“WHAT THE FUCK?!”_

Sansa yelped and pressed her torso to the table to conceal her bare breasts. She had thought that her heart couldn’t beat any more erratically than when Jon’s inside her. But she was wrong. Because right now, her heart wanted to escape her chest, their flat, the entire country – to be _anywhere_ but here, confronted with the disgusted and furious face of none other than her brother.

“Robb,” Jon panted. “Robb, I can…I can explain...”


	3. Starting Anew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urgh this final chapter has been plaguing me for ages and I'm still not sure it's as I really want it...I hope it's ok!

Sansa leant against the doorframe of Jon’s old empty room with her arms wrapped around herself. The only things that remained were the desk and wardrobe that technically still belonged to Robb. Her lips attempted to curve into a smile at the thought of Jon – the most wealthy of them all, and yet he’d still rather accept some old hand-me-down furniture than bother going out searching for the high-end quality stuff that he could comfortably afford.

“Sansa,” Robb called from his place in the lounge, breaking her free of her wandering thoughts. At least he’s talking to her now, at least he can bear to look at her. It had been an almighty screaming match once Robb stepped foot into the apartment three weeks ago now. He’d launched himself at a decidedly half naked Jon as Sansa tried to both keep him at bay _and_ save her modesty. It had been a tricky task, all things considering. Robb had behaved like a rabid dog, yelling that _‘as soon as his back had turned, his friend had preyed on his sister’_. Sansa tried desperately to put things straight, repeating again and again that it meant nothing to either of them, it was just a bit of fun, no big deal, they were _both_ adults and no one is getting hurt.

She still remembers the expression on Jon’s face when Robb demanded to know if it were true. He looked as though he was… _deliberating_ … before he finally answered _“yes… it’s... just a bit of fun.”_

Sansa has since had every explanation for that expression on Jon Snow’s face whirl round and round her head. She was deliberating on his deliberation, as it were. And she was getting nowhere. The only thing she knew for sure was that she missed him.

Robb had finally calmed down, but had insisted Jon moved out, saying that if this arrangement means _nothing_ to either of them then Jon’s absence shouldn’t be a problem. Sansa tried to explain that she’s in no danger of being hurt – that no matter how casual this thing was, Jon would not trample on her heart because-… _because my heart’s not in it_ , she’d thought to say, but the words tasted like lies and she was never able to force them out of her mouth.

 _“I’m not comfortable with you two being… fuck buddies. Not here. Not in our flat,”_ her brother had spat out, and Sansa had to admit that even though he would hardly be there, neither her nor Jon would want Robb to be uncomfortable in his own home. Sansa wondered how he would’ve reacted if it had been more than just a _‘friends with benefits’_ situation. Would he have let Jon stay?

“I’ve bought that pink wine stuff you like,” Robb called, “I’ll let you choose what we eat and what film we watch.”

Sansa snickered. “Oh, thank you your _royal highness!”_ she retorted, finally pushing herself from the doorframe of Jon’s old room to go and join her brother in the lounge. “To what do I owe this level of honour?”

Robb grinned as he pulled out the stack of take-out menus from the drawer beneath their coffee table, the top one was Jon’s favourite Chinese place. “Well, you’ve got that thing at the magazine tomorrow, haven’t you? Thought I’d let you take the reigns tonight as a mini celebration.”

Sansa smiled and dropped herself down onto the couch next to him, taking the menus and perusing the one on top. She was a little nervous about tomorrow. Two weeks ago, she’d received a call from Jaime Lannister to offer her one of the spots on their new ‘Bright Young Stars of Fashion’ feature and Sansa had been so excited she’s pretty sure she actually _squealed_ down the phone.

She’d text Jon the news straight away, only just pausing to wonder why that had been her first reaction _after_ she’d pressed send. It hadn’t taken long for him to follow up with a phone-call. It was odd hearing his voice, even though, at that time, he’d only been gone a week. The deep, soft sound of it had sent a jolt to Sansa’s chest and as Jon had quietly congratulated her, all she could think was _‘I miss you’_. She hadn’t said anything though – this living without Jon thing was just something new to get used to. And besides, it’s not as though they had been particularly close before Robb went away on his internship anyway, so Sansa convinced herself that it was the _sex_ that she was missing – the physical comfort that he used to give her. _And God-damn-it he used to give it to her good._

Sansa’s phone buzzed in her jeans just as she’s about to choose Jon’s favoured chow mein for herself. For some unknown reason she instantly thinks it’s him, but as she pulls it from her pocket, she’s proved wrong.

**_Unknown number:_ ** _Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. You’ll be great. Jaime L_

*****

Targaryen Media house all the offices of their magazines within three huge high-rise buildings within the city-centre - _Dragon Towers_ , they’re called and the sight of them is just as imposing and terrifying as their name. Sansa stares up at Drogon Tower, the largest block that is home to the biggest names in the world of fashion media. It’s huge. She can hardly see the top from where she stands below it, craning her neck and clutching her little portfolio. The sunlight glints off the panes of glass that make up all faces of the building, shiny and showy.

The doors glide open silently and smoothly so that Sansa can step foot inside the plush lobby. The floor is black marble with small flecks of something sparkly throughout. Her heels clip noisily as she hurries over to the large round reception desk, also shiny and black with the Targaryen Media logo, a red three headed dragon displayed on the front.

After receiving her pass and a smile from the receptionist, Sansa’s nerves relax only a fraction as she steps into the lift and punches the button to ‘floor 54 – KL Fashions’. She wonders which tower and what floor Jon’s magazine is on as the lift takes her higher and higher. Reasoning that it wouldn’t be in Drogon Tower, as Jon’s publication is not remotely related to fashion, so that left Viserion or Rhaegal. _No chance of bumping into him then,_ she thinks a little mournfully as she smooths down her hair and tugs on the bottom of her handmade blouse.

The double doors opened with a _‘ting’_ to revel yet another reception desk, this one being manned by a decidedly less smiley woman than the one downstairs. This one _also_ had a grinning Jaime Lannister leant against it as if he had been awaiting her arrival. He flashed his 100 watt smile at Sansa as she stepped forward like he were trying to make up for the stern face of the receptionist. “Miss Sansa Stark!” he greeted, his eyes twinkling happily, “welcome back. It’s good to see you again.”

Sansa’s nerves kicked up a notch once more as she took his hand, her gut feeling like a storm of butterflies were waltzing around and around. She’s sure that she managed to return his smile though and hoped she’d calm down soon. It obviously hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You’ll do great, don’t worry about a thing,” Jaime said, leaning in and pinning her with the twinkle in his green eyes.

The first meeting had been with Jaime, along with the Features Editor, Art Director, Pictures Editor, Print and Digital Journalists, Fashion Editor and a few PAs scattered throughout. Sansa had been picked alongside a brother-sister jewellery design duo, Margaery and Loras to be the stars of their new feature. The information that was aimed at her was both thrilling and overwhelming all at once – as well as all the queries she’d received in turn.

After everyone filed out of the boardroom for a break, Sansa felt the presence of someone near as she was gathering up her designs, notes and portfolio.

“You did spectacularly,” Jaime crooned so close to her ear that it made her jump.

She laughed nervously, feeling her face colour, “did I? I feel like I didn’t really contribute much to the meeting.”

Eying the blush of her cheeks, Jaime somehow seemed pleased with the result. “Oh, but you did. You did!” he reassured her, reaching out a warm hand to touch her upper arm. “You did really well. Besides,” he turned to look down at her design boards still scattered on the meeting table, “your work speaks for itself, Sansa. You’re rather good at this you know?”

Sansa turned too, watching him trace one of her designs with his finger. “Really?”

Jaime moved closer, his arm now brushing with hers. He grasped her hand with both of his and before she knew it, he was bringing her knuckles to his mouth as he turned to stare into her eyes. He was close, so close, _too close,_ and his breath was hot on the back of her hand as he feathered a peck of kiss onto her skin. “Really,” he breathed. “You need to stop doubting yourself, sweetheart.”

 _Sweetheart?_ Sansa wasn’t sure how she felt about that word coming from him. _Jon calls me sweetheart when we-_ She squashed down her thoughts and forced smile to her lips none-the-less as she thanked him for his encouragement.

After Jaime left her to gather her things, she heard her phone buzz in her handbag.

**_Jon:_ ** _You look nice today. Is that a new blouse?_

Frowning down at the message, Sansa typed out a reply.

**_Sansa:_ ** _Thank you. It is! Did we pass each other in the corridor or something?_

**_Jon:_ ** _No. Turn around._

Sansa did as she was bade and took a step closer to the floor-ceiling window that looked out to the other two Dragon Towers. Rhaegal was the closest and as she squinted at the sunlight bouncing off the panes, she noticed Jon framed in one of the windows opposite her, one hand in his trouser pocket and one holding his phone. She could make out a smile on his face as he gave her a little wave with his phone, her own buzzing in her hand once again.

**_Jon_ ** _: Hi there_

**_Sansa:_ ** _Hi :)_

Chewing her lip, she typed out the words she’d wanted to say to him on the phone two weeks ago – _‘I miss you’_ but then quickly deleted them and glanced up to him in the other building, not really sure what to say. Sansa watched him look to his phone, no doubt seeing those dancing little ellipses appear and then disappear with a frown on his brow – she wasn’t close enough to make it out, but she could picture his expression perfectly anyway. She huffed and bit her lip. _Here goes nothing._

**_Sansa:_ ** _I miss you_

He responded instantly.

**_Jon:_ ** _I miss you too_

**_Jon:_ ** _Why don’t you come and have lunch over in my office? I’ll order in whatever you want and you can tell me how it’s going over at KL Fashions?_

_I’d like that,_ Sansa thought with a grin on her face _, I’d like that very much._

*****

Jon’s office in Rhaegal Tower had a very different atmosphere to that of Drogon Tower. A lot of his staff members were dressed casually, there was a space in the middle of the office floor that had gaming chairs and multiple screens where people were playing. There was even a air-hockey table!

Jon had greeted her with a warm smile and his hands stuffed in his pockets down at the lobby. Jon wore black trousers and a dark grey button-down shirt, he looked to be one of the most smartly dressed of everyone in his office.

She’s not sure but Sansa swears that the receptionist raised a very interested brow as he ushered her into the lift to get to his floor. That feeling hadn’t disappeared once they’d stepped foot inside the Dragon Gaming offices either – everyone seemed to be turning their heads as they’d walked by, two players even pausing their game and twisting right around in their seats to track them with interested eyes – Jon only noticed when Sansa looked back at all the faces turned towards them. He pointedly cleared his throat, all the heads snapping back to their work and shuffling of papers.

“Sand Snake Games want to talk to you about-“ a mousey-haired woman sat behind the desk outside Jon’s office started. Sansa suspects that she must be his PA.

“Thank you Gilly,” Jon interrupts, “but can you hold them off till later? I’m a little busy at the moment.” He throws Sansa a shy smile making her heart clench at the familiarity of it. _Stop it, you just miss him is all,_ she chastises herself.

“So, how’s it going over in Drogon Tower?” he asks after the soft click of his office door closing.

Sansa doesn’t answer him straight away, too busy gaping at his office space. A large room with highly polished dark wood furniture, a plush leather couch facing a huge wall-mounted flat-screen tv with a plethora of gaming consoles sat on a high-end side-board beneath it. There’s a vintage pin-ball machine and a couple of arcade games over in the corner and the room is capped off with floor-to-ceiling windows at the opposite end.

“This is your office?” she murmurs in disbelief, almost to herself. She’s not too sure what it was that she’d expected, but not this. Jon is the opposite of flashy and showy – and although she can believe he’d brought in the gaming paraphernalia, this all seemed far _‘too much’_ to be considered _‘Jon’_. She turned around slowly, taking it all in, until she was back to facing Jon himself, standing awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he watched her assess their surroundings.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Sansa blurted, feeling her cheeks heat. She hadn’t meant to sound so astonished. “Yeah…It’s really nice…but it’s not really-“

“What you expected?” Jon asked, raising his brows. Sansa smiled and shook her head. “Rhaegar wanted me to have an office space that reflected my place in the company and the family I guess,” he shrugged, “he wasn’t particularly pleased that I chose the retro gaming mag over the bigger named publications to work with, but I stuck to my guns,” he grins at her then – just a small one- but there was a mischievous flash in his dark grey eyes as he peeked at her from beneath his lashes. Sansa’s teeth sunk into her bottom lip as she wondered at just how easily Jon Snow could turn her heart to putty in his hands with one look.

 _No! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Focus!_ “Well it’s really nice, Jon,” she says, walking over to the window to try and put a little distance between them, allowing her some time to get her heart back in check. Jon seems to not wish to grant her any mercy today though as he comes to stand right next to Sansa, looking out over the view of Drogon Tower her.

“Thanks,” he says before nodding his head in the direction of the other office block, “so today your first day?” Sansa hummed in confirmation before explaining that the magazine had asked her to come to their offices for a few days each month until the feature was over. Jon nudged her hand with his own without turning to look at her, making Sansa’s pulse quicken. Tentatively, he laced his fingers with hers as they both continued to gaze out of the window. “Can I buy you lunch on those days?”

“I’d like that,” Sansa croaked.

She felt Jon’s thumb sweep up and down her own, the sweetness of the caress sending a warmth to chest and a warning sign to her head.

Jon cleared his throat. “Sansa, I-“

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted buy a soft knock on Jon’s office door, followed by the voice of Gilly, Jon’s PA. “Your lunch is here, Mr Snow.”

As if giving an answer all of its own, Sansa’s stomach growled loudly, making Jon’s eyes drop to where she’d pulled her hand away from his and placed it on her middle. “I was so nervous, I skipped breakfast,” she supplied with an almighty blush.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jon grinned affectionately.

*****

Sansa had been surprised to be asked into KL Fashions every day that week. She was even more surprised when Jaime Lannister seemed to want to take her to lunch. She politely declined, wanting to spend her free time with Jon in his office, eating subs and laughing when he very clearly let her win a round of Mortal Combat on his huge tv or when she jokingly accused him of being paid to do sod all but play games all day. If she can’t spend time with him at the flat, then she’d take these chances whilst she can.

“How is Lannister treating you?” Jon asked quite suddenly one day as he reached over to grab his soda and take a slurp from the straw.

“He’s alright,” Sansa responded before taking a bite of her lunch. Glancing up at him as she chewed, Sansa spotted an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite decipher. “Whupt?” she mumbled around her mouthful, her hand coming up to cover her chewing before she swallowed and could speak more politely. “Why do you ask?”

Jon shrugged and returned to his drink. “I just thought I saw him getting a little too familiar with you on that first day, is all.”

“Through the window? You saw that?”

Jon nodded absentmindedly. “If he’s making you uncomfortable, you can tell HR… or tell me.” He turned his eyes on her then, a fierce declaration burning behind them. “If he or _anyone_ upsets you, you come to me. They won’t get away with it.”

There was something about the way his voice quivered and yet held strong – the way his eyes were raging and yet soft – that made that hot molten liquid feeling slide down Sansa’s spine at the sheer intensity of his promise. And ok, yeah, somewhere deep in the recesses of her brain was a little voice tutting at the very cave-man-esque way in which it had felt – like Jon Snow had just proclaimed her _his woman_ and that he’d puff up his chest and then beat on it should any other man glance her way. But that little voice was currently being drowned out by the one who was remembering what it was to have him stare at her that way, have his mouth on hers, his hands all over her body and his tongue following after. _This_ little voice was whimpering at the memory of Jon Snow panting filthy words into her skin as he rutted into her. This little voice wanted to be _his woman._

“Well,” she ventured, taking a nervous gulp as she pressed her thighs together, “he is being rather friendly and it’s…” her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she stared at his wondering if she should continue down this path she’s hurtling down. Jon nodded, urging her to finish what it was she had been saying. “It’s kind of… maybe… _stressing me out_ a little?”

“Let me talk to him,” he said, reaching over to the phone that was on the coffee table and punching some numbers, “I won’t let him-“

Sansa took the receiver from Jon’s hand and placed it back onto the phone. “that’s not what I meant,” she purred before getting up to reseat herself in Jon’s lap, straddling him there on his couch.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, “ _’Oh’_ ,” Sansa slid her palms up Jon’s chest before asking uncertainly, “is this alright?”

Jon made a quiet whining noise at the back of his throat as he nodded up to her, his hands sliding up her thighs as they bracketed him. Sansa leant down to press her lips to his, angling her head after a few pecks so deepen the kiss and get a proper taste of him – the taste she yearned for. Jon made that whimpering sort of noise again as they broke apart, keeping his eyes closed as he whispered, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she responded, littering his lips with pecks of her own.

“No, Sansa,” he shook his head, opened his eyes and reached up to cup her face in his hands, “I _really_ missed you.” Sansa’s breath hitched in her throat as Jon’s gaze flit between her eyes, searching for some sort of recognition to what he’d just said – _what his words had meant_ \- and damn that swoop in her belly that he could so easily bring on with one single look and so few words.

She couldn’t bear it – that look in his eye. The one pleading for something from her. Is it her heart he wants? Sansa’s so unsure. She thought she knew when she was younger – what those looks from men meant. But it turned out that she’d known nothing at all and allowed herself to be fooled more than once. _But Jon would never… he wouldn’t_ … She’d thought that before and been proven wrong. What is it he wants? _If he wants my body, he can have it,_ she thinks, crashing her lips into his, _but my heart….my heart… I couldn’t take it if I offered it to him and I was wrong to do so._ “Make me feel good, Jon,” she whispers into their kiss, “you’re the only one who’s ever made me feel good.”

Jon groaned into Sansa’s mouth and stood, lifting her along with him before he deposited her down on his desk. _It’s good thing the blinds are already drawn,_ Sansa distantly thinks, _else we’d be giving the whole of Drogon Tower quite a show,_ Sansa grins and giggles as Jon starts nipping and licking under her jaw and down the column of her throat.

“Let me take care of that stress for you sweetheart,” he husks into the neckline of her dress. “lay back, it’s been so long since I had a taste of you.”

Sansa complies with her lip caught between her teeth at just how utterly wicked this all is. Jon seats himself in his executive leather chair and wheels himself forwards eagerly. Sansa raises her hips so he can snake his hands up her thighs, hook his fingers into her panties and slide them down her legs. He makes a pleased noise from somewhere within the depths of his chest at the sight of her bared, dress bunched up around her hips and legs spread out for him there on his huge polished desk. Sansa flushes and half expects him to tease her about it, but Jon surprises her by swooping in for an instant long lick followed up quickly by another and another, groaning into her like she’s the best dessert he’s ever devoured.

 _“Oh God!”_ Sansa groans because not only is Jon some sort of expert at swirling his tongue around her clit, but he’s doing it in the middle of the day… on his work desk… in his office… and it’s all just so deliciously naughty that she thinks she might come apart at a record time.

“Mmmmm, Jon,” she moans, her head rolling from one side to the other against the surface of his desk as she tries to desperately keep herself tethered to the earth. It’s then that she starts to feel it – that oncoming climax that is sure to bulldoze its way straight through her, she squeezes her eyes shut and starts to whimper against his ministrations.

“Come on my love,” he rasps into her flesh, “come for me. I want to taste it. It’s been so long since I tasted-“

“Mr Snow, I’ve got Sand Snake Games for you on the line,” came the sudden voice of Gilly on Jon’s desk-phone. Sansa snapped her eyes open, her head turning towards the phone down by her hip. There was a little light flashing on top of it.

 _“Fuck!”_ Jon muttered quietly into her inner thigh. “Gilly, I’m busy, I can’t-“

“They need to speak to you _today_ , Jon,” Gilly retorted in a playfully stern voice.

“Can’t I ring them later-“

“Not really… Oh look-“

“Gilly, don’t!”

“…my finger seems to be slipping…”

“ _Gilly!...”_ he warned _, “_ I’ll fire you!...”

“No you won’t.”

“Don’t do this to me Gill-“

“Putting this terribly important call through now…”

“Gilly!”

“You’ll thank me and my slippy fingers later when you get what you want from Sand Snakes…”

“Gilly, no!”

“Gilly, yes!... ok, putting that call through... right…about… now…”

_Beep-beep_

“Mr Snow?” came a voice in a thick Dornish accent.

“Miss Sand!” Jon calls out to the phone from his place between Sansa’s thighs, “how lovely to speak to you again.”

Sansa bites down hard on her lip to try and stifle a giggle at not only the situation they find themselves in but Jon’s overly happy telephone voice. She shakes her head playfully at him and attempts to close her legs, but Jon has a firm grip on her thighs, keeping her wide open before him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jon whispers before planting a quick peck to her clit that makes her eyelids flutter shut. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he says loudly in that cheerful tone again, “I’m currently eating a tasty meal, so if you hear my bad table manners during our conversation, I do apologise.”

Jon leans up to capture her lips briefly, smirking at the astonished look that surely must be on her face. _Is he really planning on carrying on whilst having some sort of conference call?_ The answer came as clear as day when Jon pulled her bundled up underwear from his pocket and pushed the garment into her mouth, placing a silencing finger over his lips as he made a ‘shhh’ noise and slid back down to his position between her legs.

She doesn’t really hear a word he says when he pauses his licking and slurping on her to answer some questions or ask some of his own, all Sansa really knows is that she comes so damn hard and fast that it’s any wonder she didn’t swallow that wad of lace currently balled up in her mouth. And still he continues, lapping lazily through her as her head lolls from one side to the other and the Dornish woman is yammering on about some apparently very rare level on some obscure retro game that Sansa’s never heard of.

“Hmm,” Jon mumbles, lifting his head a fraction from her, his hot breath fanning over her cunt as he talks, “yes, everything seems more than satisfactory my end,” he pauses to take a long lick of her, “perfect in fact.”

“Alright then Mr Snow,” replies the Dornish woman, “I’ll leave you to your meal. I hope I haven’t ruined it for you with all this talk of business.”

“Oh, no,” Jon grins up at Sansa, “nothing could ruin this meal, it’s my favourite. Delicious.”

Sansa rolls her eyes and Jon lets out a bark of laughter as the phone line goes dead.

“You’re such a dork,” she smiles as Jon moves up to cover her body with his, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss.

“Mmm,” Jon mumbles against her lips before pulling away and gazing down at her, “but I’m _your_ dork.”

Sansa’s pulse thudded in her veins as Jon gazed down at her so earnestly, just has he had done earlier on the couch. He’s been trying to tell her this – been trying to give her _his_ heart all along- and she’s been too afraid to take it because that would mean she’d have to give hers in return. But as she looks up into those storm grey eyes, realising that he’s waiting patiently for her to give him something, _anything,_ in return, Sansa understands now that her heart had been his for a while now. And there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

She smiles up at him and reaches out to stroke at his beard, tracing his full lips with her fingertip. “You really want to be my dork?” she asks, her own mouth quirking up at the sound of the question.

“More than anything.”

“Robb’s not mad at you anymore but… but I don’t think he’d let you move back in again.”

“Well how about you move in with me instead?”

Sansa couldn’t stop the spread of the wide grin on her face if she’d wanted to. She had missed Jon so much and the thought of living with him again, seeing him every day – and not only that, _being_ with him - made her heart swell almost painfully. “I’d like that,” Sansa whispered as she brought him down for another kiss, “Two dorks living together,” she sighed.

“Mmm,” he rumbled into the side of her neck before kissing her there, “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too.” She could hardly believe the words had come so easily. But they had. And she let them wash over her like a balm as Jon held her close and nuzzled at her jaw.

“But you’ve got one thing wrong, love,” he whispered, “you are nowhere near cool enough to be a dork.”

 “Make love to me, you dork,” Sansa giggled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so i was going to go somewhere with the jaime plot - it was going to be a bit more fleshed out but as my whole household is ill including a child with the chicken pox, I don't think I'll have time to really get it to where I envisioned it... but anyway...I hope this ending wasn't naff!


End file.
